


Prescribe Me Some Wilson

by therealfroggy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson knows how to get House to shut up about having to do physio. All he has to do, is fuck his brains out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prescribe Me Some Wilson

“House, you ass, I know it hurts. You promised me. Now get off your ass and start walking!”

Wilson stood in front of House, hands on his hips, yelling. It killed him inside to see House struggle like mad just to get back on his feet, but it was necessary.

“This physio crap is killing me,” House snarled, defences low as only Wilson saw them. “What do you care if I walk or limp? I've got a bike, anyway; I don't need my right leg. It only gets in the way.”

Wilson took House's arm and dragged him back to his feet. The older man had fallen while walking around the room without his cane; he'd been walking for almost one minute straight and then the pain had become too much.

“Whatever, House, you promised me you'd make an effort.”

House merely snarled again, reaching into his pocket for his Vicodin.

“No!” Wilson insisted, slapping House's hand away. “You promised me. No Vicodin for an hour, while doing physio. Come on.”

House gave a frustrated huff. “I don't care what I promised you, Wilson; I don't particularly _enjoy_ being in pain!”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Oh, you poor dear. You want me to kiss and make it better?”

House glared sullenly at the younger man and picked his cane back up. “You could let me have a Vicodin.”

“You can't; not for another twenty-five minutes,” Wilson replied. “But fine, I'll let you off for five minutes. Have a break.”

House's look could have scared poisonous snakes as he limped over to the couch and sat down. Wilson had insisted they use the facilities at the hospital; House had outright laughed at the idea of anyone but Wilson seeing him doing physio.

So he was doing it in Wilson's living room instead.

House pulled a face as he dropped to the couch. “It hurts like a bitch.”

Wilson sat down next to him and carefully patted his knee. “You'll get over it.”

House sank back in the couch a little. “Maybe I will, if you do that again – a little higher and to the left.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Four minutes remaining of your break, House.”

“Better make it snappy, then,” House said, trying to grin. Then he got up – stiffly – and grabbed his cane. “Coming?”

He stomped off in the direction of Wilson's bedroom. Wilson shot to his feet, going after the other man.

“No way, House, you promised me an hour!” he snapped, trying to stop House with a hand on his shoulder. “Stop acting like a baby!”

But House had already dropped his cane unceremoniously and was nodding towards the bed. “As I said before... coming?”

Wilson groaned. “House, you're supposed to be getting better.”

“Well, right now my whole body hurts like hell and I'm sick of this reconvalescence shit!” House barked, yanking his top shirt button open with sheer annoyance. “I think I deserve at least five minutes to stretch out!”

Wilson couldn't really argue with that. As long as it didn't turn into fifteen minutes. He sat at the edge of the bed, prepared to annoy House thoroughly during his break.

“I think I might just take a nap,” House said. “Yes, this bed is actually comfortable enough to just nip off. See you in half an hour, Wilson.”

Wilson slammed his fist down on the bedspread, turning to face the older man. “Dammit, House, when are you going to take this seriously?”

But House looked so incredibly endearing right then that Wilson couldn't quite find his tongue. The gruff doctor was lying on his back, one leg bent at the knee, a grumpy expression on his face and his three top shirt buttons open. His hands were picking sullenly at the bedspread, and his hair was ruffled – even more untamed than usual.

All his defences were down, and Wilson felt a surge of protective lust for the other man.

Unable to help himself, he scrambled to the other end of the bed, scooting over the bedspread, and kissed House quickly on the lips.

The older man gave a start. “What are you doing?”

“You have any idea how cute you look right now?” Wilson said, laughing.

House pulled a face. “I am not cute!”

“You are; your hair is all rumpled and you look just like a sulking ten-year old. You're incredibly cute,” Wilson said, grinning now. House was getting more annoyed by the second, enhancing his ´cute` features.

“You're the cute one, with your wavy brown locks and your puppy-dog eyes,” House snarked, sitting up.

Wilson felt heat rising. “But you're the one with a pain issue that makes you helpless, thus rendering you cuter than I will ever be.”

House looked downright insulted now. “Damn you, Wilson; it's a fucking pain in the ass and you think it makes me look cute?”

Wilson placed a hand on House's bad leg, rubbing his thigh through his jeans. “That's right. Darn cute.”

House swallowed audibly when Wilson's hand began sliding upwards. “That's why we're fuck buddies, I guess? Because you think my bad leg makes me cute?”

“I like to think of it as friends with benefits,” Wilson laughed, then leaned in and kissed House again. This time, he lingered, tongue sliding against House's lips. The older man tensed with the kiss.

“Come on,” he said, breathlessly, as he pulled away. “Help me get you out of these jeans.”

House arched an eyebrow, lying back down. “I think you can do that. Since I'm guessing, I'm about to get fucked.”

Wilson's mouth went dry as he opened House's jeans. It wasn't often he got to top; most of the time, House had Wilson straddle him and fucked him that way. But now, House was clearly giving him the go-ahead.

Wilson quickly opened his belt and trousers, pushing them down around his thighs. “Turn over,” he told House, fingers pulling desperately at the older man's jeans.

House silently rolled over until he was lying on his stomach. Wilson pulled his jeans down over his hips and House barely lifted said hips to assist him.

“You're not going to do this properly?” House said, mock outrage all over him. Wilson was panting, taking in the sight of House on his bed, jeans barely pushed down enough to give Wilson access to his ass.

“Lift,” he commanded, then propped a pillow under the older man's hips. He fumbled in his bedside drawer for a condom, the kind that was already slick when you unrolled it. It was all he and House had the patience for, usually.

This was no exception. It took him exactly fifteen seconds to roll the condom on, fingers fumbling and breath hitching. House merely lay there, waiting. Then it took him another four seconds to find his position over House. When he finally took himself in hand and pushed gently, the older man let out a shivering breath and relaxed. Wilson could feel all his muscle unclenching.

As he slid inside House, Wilson was panting open-mouthed and shivering with self-restraint. He wanted nothing more than to just fuck House, hard and merciless and with ownership. And House lay perfectly still beneath him, allowing it.

Wilson steadied himself on his hands to either side of House's broad back. He rocked experimentally back and forth a few times, searching for the right angle. When he found it – signalled by House's groan of agreement – he locked his frame and began thrusting in earnest. Hard, deep, demanding.

“Wilson,” House panted, fingers clutching at the bedspread again. “What are... you doing?”

“Shut... up, House,” Wilson hissed, hips slamming against the older man's. “Going to fuck you. Hard. Shut up.”

House complied, burying his face in the bedspread, letting his hips buck of their own accord as Wilson pounded into him. He grunted in searing pleasure as Wilson's cock speared through him, grazing his prostate deliciously.

“Hold on,” Wilson gasped, shifting his hands to get even more leverage. He put his weight behind the movements, fucking House with everything he had.

“Jimmy!” House moaned, fingers tearing desperately into the fabric beneath them. “Never... knew you had it in you.”

Wilson leaned forwards, rutting like a wild animal inside the older man. He was past speech; he could only make deep, grunting, possessive sounds as he mercilessly fucked House into the bedspread.

“Oh,” House stuttered, eyes clenched shut to keep himself from coming. Wilson's movements were driving his groin into the pillow, giving his aching cock the friction it needed, and then one of the younger man's hands began pressing down on his shoulder, fingers clawing at the skin.

“Uunh,” Wilson groaned, head thrown back. “House!”

House's eyes rolled back in his head. He couldn't take it any more. He moaned, loudly, wantonly, and felt his orgasm begin to curl his toes and spread in wildfire waves through his entire body as Wilson's hard flesh drove into him repeatedly and he...

With a wordless growl of pleasure, Wilson came hard, followed a heartbeat later by House, backs arched and their faces contorted in grimaces of disbelieving pleasure.

“House!”

Wilson almost screamed it. House couldn't make a sound, not even as Wilson drew abruptly out of him and collapsed over his back.

“Greg,” Wilson panted, his head whirring. He was breathing heavily into the skin of House's shoulder, where red scratches were beginning to form.

Wilson felt contrite. “Sorry.”

House was still heaving for breath, not making a sound, his eyes scrunched shut.

“Greg? Greg, shit, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to -”

“Jimmy,” House rasped, fingers slowly unclenching from the bedspread. “I'm fine.”

Wilson let out a sigh of relief. For half a second there, he thought he'd injured the other man.

“And since when do you call me Greg?”

House's voice was raw, dazed and breathy at the same time. Wilson shifted off the other man, looking down at him. He was sweaty, his hair terminally ruffled, with red welts on his shoulder and the scent of sex and Wilson all over him.

“You look so completely fucked,” Wilson said, blushing. He'd done that to him. To House. To Gregory House.

“I certainly feel like it,” House said, smirking weakly. “Well, Jimmy, who would have thought. Fuck me like that once a day and I can probably wean myself off the meds.”

“Endorphins doing their bit?” Wilson asked, licking his lips at the thought of doing this to House every day.

“Mm.”

“Better than Vicodin?”

“Being this fucked out is better than anything.”

Wilson blushed. House didn't let his defence down often, and Wilson was always the only one who saw it.

All he had to do to gain that privilege, was to fuck the other man through the mattress.


End file.
